


Round Two

by chooken



Series: Game On [2]
Category: Westlife
Genre: Awkward Conversations, Boys Kissing, Casual Sex, Deepthroating, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sex, Grinding, Groping, Light Angst, M/M, Rimming, Rough Oral Sex, Second Time, Sequel, Smut, Snogging, Undecided Relationship(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-11
Updated: 2017-06-11
Packaged: 2018-11-12 19:12:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,962
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11168283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chooken/pseuds/chooken
Summary: Hours after their encounter in the dressing room, Mark waits for Nicky to come to his hotel room.





	Round Two

It's later than Mark expects when he hears three quick raps on the door.

He waits. For a breath, then two, counting down slow lung-pulls, laid on the bed with his eyes closed and feeling the silence, the rise and fall of his chest, and the growing impatience of the man on the other side.

He's tired. Sore. A little strung out and hectic from the concert. Good gig, as far as gigs go, though he'd been aware through the whole thing of Nicky. Just over there, eyes fixed on the crowd. Passing him as they switched places. Punching into the same dance moves with an effortlessless Mark has always envied, the two of them in perfect time, yet Nicky somehow more graceful, more definite.

There'd been a limp in his step that night. Mark had seen it, suspected nobody else had for the hip-dropping swagger that always makes Nicky look like he's stepping bow-legged anyway. Mark understands why, now. Intimately. Something like that apparently needs breathing room.

But it's happened, now. Apparently. After months of flirting and innuendo and lingering touches that make his mouth suddenly dry and the rest of him feel overheated. Hard and rough and more intense than he'd ever expected, though he supposes if one person was going to make it competitive it was going to be Nicky.

The knock comes again. Louder and maybe more unsure than before, like he's trying for bravado. Mark's used to it. Maybe Nicky thinks Mark doesn't notice, but he does.

Notices the little smiles. The fall of blonde hair when it's messy and hasn't been combed and gelled and blow-dried. Notices the way Nicky's laugh goes slightly more hoarse when he's embarrassed and trying to laugh it off, make it a joke for all of them rather than at his expense. The way he fiddles with a pen when he's edging at being pissed off in meetings but hasn't decided to lose his cool yet. Mark notices his arse in those jeans. Notices when Nicky says he likes a man who takes charge, who'll hold him in and down and make it rough. Because when he's a bit drunk and horny Nicky says things like that.

Mark doesn't know if that's him. Hopes the hard blush in his cheeks was at least hidden by the hard kiss he'd forced Nicky into, already determined to back off and apologise and maybe run away if it had turned out he'd overstepped the line.

He hadn't, apparently.

“Just a minute,” he calls out. The knocking stops. He scrubs a hand over his face. Wonders if the erection he's sporting at the thought of it will be read as a compliment or if he'll just look like a horny teenager. If Nicky will laugh. If Nicky will...

“If you're busy I can come back?”

He doesn't want that. Is off the bed and across the room before he can get the next breath out. Nicky looks impatient, through the keyhole. Mark tugs the chain off. Turns the knob.

“What are you doing in there?”

Mark shrugs. Sees Nicky study him, the smirk that skates his mouth when his gaze lingers for a moment below the belt. “Start without me?” Mark does what he usually does when he isn't sure what to say, and says nothing. He's heard people suggest he's mysterious, introspective maybe, but mostly he's just looking for the words. “Good show tonight.”

“S'alright.” He looks Nicky up and down. “You okay?”

“Fine.” The limp's still there. “You?”

“Yeah.” He doesn't know what he wants to do. Isn't sure what Nicky wants either. Both of them stood in the middle of his hotel room and making awkward small-talk. Wants to grab Nicky again, maybe. Wants... other things more. Gentle things, maybe. To take enough time to look, though he's a little scared of Nicky looking back. Of realising that maybe he isn't that. Whatever that thing is that Nicky wants.

“What's wrong?”

“Nothing.” Mark reaches out a hand. Nicky takes it, after a studying look. “Just... thinking about how sexy you were before.”

“Oh. Ditto.” Nicky looks pleased. Almost flustered. His eyes keep darting to Mark's mouth. He can feel Nicky there still. From before. Nicky keening in his arms and pressing in, clumsy words and groping hands. And the taste of him. “I erm... I don't want this to be weird, right? Like, I know before it was...” He stops to take a breath. “It was good. But that was once and this is-”

“Twice,” Mark finishes. Nicky nods.

“Yeah. Which isn't a bad thing, but if it's twice, then is it three times next? And then four and...” He huffs. “Which again isn't a bad thing.”

“No?”

“No.” Nicky hesitates. “...is it a bad thing for you?”

“No. Do you want to talk about it?”

“Yes. Also no. Because if we talk about it then it turns into a thing, and I really don't want it to be a thing. But if we don't talk about it, what if it does turn into a thing and we didn't talk about it, and then it fucks everything up?”

“Okay.” Mark sits down. Nicky's still holding his hand, looking worried. “So what do you want?”

“I...” Nicky lets go, hand skating up Mark's forearm, shoulder, up to caress his cheek gently, knuckles dragging over stubble before fingers curve to his jaw. A thumb brushes over his bottom lip, pulling gently. Nicky swallows. “Honestly I'm sort of thinking about how much I want your mouth.” His eyes close for a shuddering moment, and Mark realises there's a bulge in his trousers.

“You want me to suck you?”

“Fuck. Yes, I want you to suck me.” When his eyes open they're dark. “Can I just say that I respect you a hell of a lot as a person? And as a friend. Obviously. But I sort of really just want...” His thumb's still stroking Mark's bottom lip, pressing harder now. There's fire in his gaze. “Before. When you... when we fucked like that. It was...”

“You want it hard?” He sees Nicky gulp. Doesn't give a fuck about gentle, not with Nicky watching him like that. “Do you want to fuck my mouth?”

“Yes.” It's a whisper. Hoarse. Mark is sure he's blushing. Doesn't care. “I want to fuck your mouth. Want you to...” He shivers. “Oh god. I didn't know you liked it like that, or I would've jumped you months ago.”

It's a good thing Mark's sitting. It makes it easy to grab narrow hips and yank in. Nicky yelps, feet stumbling for a moment. The hand on his mouth jerks away, then settles in his hair again, stroking gently for a moment before finding a grip that sends pinpricks of pain. Mark's already popping open his button fly with both hands, both of them groaning when stiff flesh pops free.

“That's fucking beautiful,” Mark mutters. It is. God, dark at the head, waxed as clean as the rest of him. Maybe porn-star knobs are generally unlikely, but this is gorgeous. Tastes better, when he licks up the shaft, coaxing balls out and into his hand, giving them a gentle tug that makes Nicky whimper above him.

The whisper of his name breaks when he slides down. Takes as much as he can at once. He's not bad at this, if he says so himself. He's certainly never gotten complaints. This is different, though. This is Nicky, and Nicky _wants_ things. Things he thinks Mark can give.

Mark wants to give them. Wants to take them, when he feels a second hand stroke around and settle on his nape.

Thighs tremble when he dips down again, breathes past the gag. Pulls back up with a slow suck.

“Oh god,” Nicky breathes. Mark makes a stroke. Over his balls and up again, a counter-point to the dip of his mouth, kissing his fist as they meet in the middle, his other hand pushing down Nicky's trousers enough to grab a firm arse-cheek, yanking Nicky in tighter again, closing his eyes at the shudder of arousal in his jeans.

It's not rough. Not yet. When he opens his eyes and looks up Nicky is watching him. It's gorgeous. Flushed. Eyes narrowed and midnight blue, lips parted and almost as wet as Mark's as he works up and down in long swallows that taste of sex, smell of sex. Nicky, in his lungs and down his throat while Mark takes him in.

But this isn't what Nicky's asked for, despite the obvious pleasure on his face. Mark pulls him in again, drops his hand to hook a knee and bend it up, until Nicky's foot's on the mattress beside him, the other planted on the floor.

He pulls off to mouth kisses up an open groin, a pale thigh. Hears Nicky's breath, high and fast.

“Fuck me,” he urges, before sinking back down.

It starts slow. Nicky feels unsure, and maybe there's a sweetness in that, that Nicky wants to be careful, doesn't want to hurt him, but when he sucks down as hard as he can, almost to a bite, and yanks Nicky in with both hands on his arse, apparently the point is made. There's a gurgling howl, fingers in his hair, and then oh, trying to breathe and keep his throat open while Nicky _slams_ the next one in hard.

It's... different than he expected. Choking, of course, but in a breathless way that makes him light-headed. Salt on his tongue, the slip of fluid down his throat. He can't breathe. Can't think. Can just inhale and want and throb against his jeans, the almost-panic of suffocation muted by the soft cries and the fists yanking at his hair.

His hands search for something to do. Something to grab. They want to force against Nicky's hips and stomach, slow the pace, but he's made it this far and there's no point stopping now. Not when it's like this. Nicky tasting of want. Sounding like...

Mark can't make out all the words. Nonsense and _Jesus_ and _Fuck_ and _Mark_. Can see an open thigh stretching out to block his view when his eyes finally open to look. Looks up to see Nicky staring down, chest heaving and one of his own hands having migrated to twist at his own nipple.

That's something Mark can do, so he bats it away. Feels budded flesh under his palm and relishes eyes that roll back, lips that part in a breathless, meaningless sob when he scrapes his nails down.

“Are you...” Nicky gulps, fingers tracing the suffocated tears leaking from Mark's eyes. “Oh _fuck_ , Mark, are you sure you're...”

He's sure. He's fucking sure. Drives down, uses his free hand to yank in, glad he's got a purpose for it. It _hurts_. Doesn't matter when Nicky's head tips back in a shout, both hands back in Mark's hair while Mark slams down, needing this. Needing all of this, even as black spots dance in his eyes, even as his jaw begins to ache. Needs Nicky.

He thinks he loses himself for a while. Isn't sure where, but it's white and calm and slow, his nose finding the oxygen to keep him alive while he focuses on filling his lungs, on the harsh rise of quick breaths above him, the heave of a chest under his fingers while he plucks at a swollen nipple. Drifts in it. In being so full of purpose and sensation it's madness to try to pick one from the rest, except that it's pleasure. Want. Violent serenity in being _used_ like this. Feeling overwhelmed and powerful because even though he's being fucked, Nicky is the one who sounds helpless, who's moving in erractic thrusts that have less control as Mark's choked breaths count the time.

“Mark,” Nicky gasps. “Oh fuck, love, I can't.”

Mark's heart hears love. His brain knows that's not what it means. Not in the way he thinks he wants, not when all of this is built on expectation and the masquerade that this is who he is, at his core. Though it's been nice to pretend for a while. For Nicky.

He pulls off. Hears a squawk when he does, fingers loosening in surprise on his scalp.

Clears his throat. It hurts. He wants it to hurt, so in the morning he can remember this, and keep it as a reminder of that time he got to pretend, for a while.

“What...”

The tremble of his legs when he stands matches Nicky's. They're both close. Mark closer, as mad as that sounds.

The kiss is soft. His mouth feels swollen, sore when Nicky's tongue darts out to sweep over it and then in, meeting him in the warm shell of their mouths. His hand rests over a beating heart, feeling it's rabbit-quick pace, and he wonders if Nicky feels as light-headed as he does.

“I know you said it was a bad thing but...” Not quite a whisper, almost a breath. He half hopes Nicky won't hear. “I want it.”

“What do you want?” Nicky's rubbing slowly against his thigh. Mark isn't sure he's aware of it, if it isn't just because he's so close and needs the pressure. It's distracting anyway. Sticky. Hot. He wants...

“I want you,” Mark murmurs. “Want to finish hard this time. Go slow next time. Because I...” Nicky cuts him off with a sucking kiss. “If you want it to be more, it can be. If you don't, then...” He nuzzles at a perfect nose, feels breath coat his mouth. “I just wanted you. However you want it, that's how I want you.”

“Mark.” His name sounds sweet and heartbreaking. The hug Nicky pulls into him would be heaven if it wasn't for the cock still rubbing against his thigh. “I said I don't want it to be a thing.”

“That's fine,” he says quickly.

“I'm also really hard and trying to grind myself off on your leg.” Mark snorts a laugh, hears Nicky chuckle hoarsely back.

“I noticed.”

“Mm.” They press together. Body to body, nose to nose, eyes watching each other. He feels a hand slide up his thigh, cup over him for an agony, then drift around to settle on his waist. “Tonight's been...” He smiles, and suddenly Mark feels at a loss. “It's been fucking hot, to be honest. Before and... and now. I love you. You're one of my best friends, but I don't think I know you. Not like that.” Fingers slide up to his nape, and Mark feels, in an instant, like they're dancing, even if it's in a slightly obscene manner. “This isn't you, is it?”

“I don't know.” He feels stupidly young. “I want it.”

“Because you think I want it?”

“Because...” He kisses Nicky hard. Hears a groan, feels the grind become harder. “Because I want _you_.” Because if he's doing what Nicky wants, Nicky won't look anywhere else. Because... “I want you to fuck my mouth. Want to fuck you in dressing rooms, and...”

“Why'd you stop, then?”

“Because I want this too,” he admits. Nicky raises an eyebrow.

“Why do you have to choose?”

“Because you don't want me like that.” It hurts, admitting it to himself. “So I'll take what I can get and be happy with it. That's fine.”

Nicky snorts. “You could ask me what _I_ want.” Mark shakes his head. Can't say that he can't. That he knows he isn't enough, that even if he _does_ everything Nicky wants it won't be the same as _being_ what Nicky wants, no matter how hard he tries.

He realises he's being eased back onto the bed when he's halfway down, Nicky's hands slowing him onto the mattress. That his jeans are being wrestled off. That Nicky's kicking his trousers off, yanking his own shirt over his head.

He's straddled carefully. Feels Nicky settle onto his belly, the spread of arse-cheeks. Points of contact. Bollocks on his stomach, a hand running carefully down his chest, feet running alongside his tensed thighs, and the soft press of lips when Nicky bends down to peck a kiss to his cheek. Fingers sliding up his sides and over his armpits while his shirt is coaxed up and over his head. A nose touching to his and a smile connecting slowly with his own.

“Show me what _you_ want,” Nicky says. Mark shakes his head. Doesn't know how to start. To be selfish like that.

“Nicky...”

“Show me,” Nicky murmurs. “Or I'll walk out the door and we'll forget all of it. I'll wank off in the shower and tomorrow we can pretend to go back to normal.” Mark hesitates. Maybe that would be better. Safer. “You want me? Fine. Show me who the fuck you are.” He pulls back, and Mark yelps when a fist slams into the soft muscle of his shoulder. “Show me,” Nicky snarls. An open-palmed slap to his chest while Mark tries to shake the tingles out of his arm. “Show me, you fucking prick. Don't fucking _lie_ to me, like I'm fucking cheap. Is that what you think of me? That I'm that fucking selfish?”

“No, I...” He doesn't know. “No. Of course not. I just...”

“That I couldn't fucking want someone unless they pretended to be someone else? Unless they just sat there and _took_ it?” Nicky's angry. His fist cocks back. “You're just gonna take it, huh?”

There's a muffled crack when Mark's palm catches the punch. Halfway between them. Nicky is breathing hard. Mark is breathing harder. His throat hurts. His shoulder hurts. But what hurts more is the rage in blue eyes. What hurts more is Nicky's hurt.

They still. Nicky's glaring at him. Mark stares back. Feels suddenly, stupidly angry. At Nicky. At himself. At every doubt and every false word and action and for the surprising pleasure he took from playing a part. From pretending what he does is who he is, because that's _not_ who he is.

He rolls them. Onto their sides. Doesn't want to be pinned, doesn't want to be on top either. Just wants to slide down, let go of Nicky's fist, kiss down and bite a nipple caged by fingernail marks, feel the fluttering hitch of surprise. Feel the shape of Nicky, the curve of his ribs and back and arse, the strength in a solid thigh that coils under his touch, down the back of it to a corded knee-pit while his mouth kisses at a flat stomach, at a smooth groin that are made more perfect by the soft moans breathing out of the man above him.

They don't talk. Instead Mark bites over his hip. Rolls him gently onto his front until he can get at that sinful arse he'd felt earlier. In his hands. On his cock. Licks down the valley of it, hand wrapping at himself to quell the throb of urgency when he gets the smell of musk. Of Nicky.

“Fuck,” Nicky gasps. “Are you...?”

He's sure. Dives in as hard as he can, snarling an open-mouthed kiss and breathing in as much as he can, tongue finding the way to lave over hot skin, puckered muscle. Hears Nicky whine above him. Settles on his elbows and just _devours._ Slides his hands underneath to yank Nicky up, relishing the broken cry when his tongue slips inside, the ache from his jaw ignored for a second time that night.

Nicky's grinding into the sheets. Mark pulls him up, slips a hand between his thighs and finds him, lets his mouth drift down to kiss the back of his bollocks then down to suck the head in, though it's hard and trying to pull away. Looks up to see a hanging head peering underneath, eyes wide, and grins back, sliding up to sink into Nicky again, his hand finding the stroke.

“Yes...” It's a different kind of approval. Earlier was triumph, this is acceptance. Better. While he grinds his nose deep, letting himself take in the smell, enjoying the painful beat of his impending orgasm, futile with both hands busy. Tastes Nicky again, tongue flicking a metronome beat over tender flesh that clenches against him, his hand busy with a cock that twitches a warning in his grip.

“You like that?” he growls. Isn't sure Nicky hears him, muffled in his arse, but the reply is breathless.

“Do you?”

“Fuck...” Closes his eyes, goes deeper, and hears Nicky cry out. Has to come. Can't. Wants to rub himself off on something, but likes the agony too much, the reminder that if there's one thing he is, it's at Nicky's mercy.

“Do you, love?”

“Yes,” he gasps. “Nicky. I...”

He feels the tense of Nicky in his hand, on his face when the boy beneath him shouts and comes hard, ribboning into the sheets, a hot slick through Mark's trembling hand. Groans. Wishes he was like a teenager again, able to come in his pants, but it's not like that and he isn't wearing any. Just needs this, the gulp of Nicky's smell, the feel of him, the gasping shivers while he falls to the mattress, twitching in his own release.

“Oh,” Nicky breathes. Mark is already crawling up, needing the contact, the sweat-slicked humidity of his skin. Needing the pressure when he blankets over his friend, finding the slick curve of his arse.

“Want you.” Nicky catches his words with a sideways kiss, a clumsy bite. Breathes into him, hand finding Mark's while they rut together. While Nicky arches back. Both of them fucking against each other, matching pull for push, Mark's hand under his stomach and holding him in until he feels himself break, dragged in the undertow of that feeling. The one that's lost and calm and light-headed, overwhelmed and powerful and drowning in purpose and sensation and _belonging_.

He comes to with his head on Nicky's shoulderblade, which is shaking with giggles. He smiles back. Isn't sure if he wants to be offended. Doesn't think he cares.

“You okay?”

“Brilliant,” Nicky purrs. “You can do that again whenever you like.”

“Yeah?” Blue eyes open, studying him. Mark studies back. Sees lips part. Close again. Curve into a smile.

“We'll see.” He pats Mark's arse. “Off.” Mark obliges, rolling onto his back. Smiles at Nicky from the other pillow. He feels naked. Wants a blanket. Nicky's looking at him carefully, eyes drifting up and down. “I won't stay tonight, but I might use your shower and grab a beer if that's okay?”

“That's fine.” A hand links with his between them. He squeezes. Sees a cheerful wink. “Who won that one, then?”

“Another draw, I think, except this time we were at least playing the same bloody game.” Nicky's eyes roll.

“Might make more sense if we were on the same team.”

“Might do,” Nicky concedes. Mark's heart is hammering. “Let me get the rules figured out first, and then we'll talk about it.” There's a squelch when he pushes himself up onto his knees. Cum all over his belly. Mark laughs at his grimace, gets a stern glare in response.

“Sorry.”

“S'fine. Your voice is fucked, by the way.” He crawls off the bed. “Good thing we don't have a concert tomorrow night.”

“Good thing.” He touches his throat, feels it rasp painfully. Nicky's wandering for the bathroom. He sees a last glimpse of a perfect arse before the door closes. Stays sat numbly on the bed until he hears the water go on and Nicky begin to sing.

There are beers in the fridge. He grabs one. Takes a sip. Hesitates.

Then he grabs another and opens the bathroom door, able to see Nicky's smile through all the steam.

 


End file.
